


Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, wincest (non-graphic/implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith and Sam Wesson want to hunt some more ghosts. They go to the experts for some hands-on training, but can they fight the strange attraction between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://brigid-tanner.livejournal.com/profile)[**brigid_tanner**](http://brigid-tanner.livejournal.com/) and [](http://tigerpinky.livejournal.com/profile)[**tigerpinky**](http://tigerpinky.livejournal.com/)  for beta-ing! This is my version of what happened in the intervening weeks between Smith and Wesson's first ghost hunt and Zachariah's arrival. Kripke owns all.  

Dean Smith had never felt more alive in his entire tonic-water-pressed-pleats-salad-dressing-on-the-side life. He felt like he’d just downed a six pack of Red Bull, accompanied by a slight buzz reminiscent of that one time he smoked pot in high school. Not quite knowing what to do with the surge of adrenaline that hummed in his bloodstream, that demanded he shout _I’m fuckin’ alive!_ from the smog-shrouded rooftop of his office building, he grabbed Sam Wesson by the shirtfront and dragged him down for a messy peck on the lips.

A startled gasp made Sam’s mouth open under the assault, and at the first unexpected touch of tongue, both men jerked reflexively away, nearly tripping on their feet to create a modicum of comfortable distance between them. They wound up on opposite sides of the corridor as they panted unevenly, staring wide-eyed at each other.

“Dude,” Sam breathed, his brow furrowed in confusion, even as his tongue darted out to taste his upper lip. “Whoa…what?”

Dean flushed a rosy pink, going for the sort of confused denial that had successfully gotten him out of trouble since he started working here, the _oh-no-I-didn’t-get-that-email-Janice_ or the _no-one-sent-me-the-form-for-requesting-those-plans-in-triplicate-Ken_ protestations that had saved his hide for three weeks running.

“What? I- I tripped.”

“Um…” Sam rubbed his hand against the nape of his neck, trying to look anywhere but at the young executive standing across from him. “Yeah, I get that. Floor’s slippery. Ghost…goo, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, spending far too much time straightening his already pin-tucked perfect button down. “Worse than a freshly waxed floor. I should call maintenance before someone has another accident.”

They fidgeted restlessly, studying the tiles of the floor and the panels in the ceiling respectively.

“Uh,” Sam said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them. “We still on for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure, sure,” Dean agreed, already heading for the elevator. “Tuna salad, right?”

“Right,” Sam said dazedly, his fingers hovering over his lips as he stared at the wall. “Tuna.” 

                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They could hardly go a day without seeing each other - standing next to each other in the elevator, grabbing staples and paper clips from the supply closet, getting endless packs of gum from the vending machine. Even if it did take some strategic maneuvering – after all, it wasn’t like Sam was supposed to get his supplies from the 22nd floor when he was housed on the 12th, or that the only place for Dean to find a vending machine was outside the tech offices.

Dean didn’t even like gum. It was unnecessary calories and made people look like lobotomized cows when chewing. He had a drawer full of the stuff, and had to resort to pawning it off on that annoying giggly secretary that tossed her hair and smiled every time he walked by. The only reason he kept getting it was that he knew if he bought anything with a hint of chocolate, he’d eat it, and there would go his South Beach fast he’d been on for the past week and a half.

Chocolate could in no way be considered a protein.

With each sighting, the discomfort shifted to hesitant smiles, evolved into badly told jokes, and the unacknowledged lunch treaty they had forged as two emissaries from feuding principalities – executive vs. tech – began to spill over into the rest of the day.

Now if only Dean could convince Sam to try a round of golf, then maybe things would be perfect. 

                                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, you know those ghost hunters we found on-line?” Sam asked in an overly casual manner, taking a swig of his orange soda to wash the pepperoni taste out of his mouth.

“The Ghostfacers, right?” Dean said. “They were awesome, man.”

Sam nodded, poking at his leftover pizza. “They’re going to be in town on a ghost hunt; I saw an announcement on their website. We should go check it out.”

“You think they’d talk to us?” Dean wondered aloud, his mouth dropping open in surprise and revealing his half-chewed salad. “That’d be…fantastic!” He smiled widely, bits of cilantro stuck in his even white teeth.

Sam lost his train of thought, briefly wondering if the cilantro would make Dean’s mouth taste like his pizza, before he shrugged, faking indifference. “Sure, why not. We’re like their…colleagues, right?”

Dean lost control of his fork in his excitement, pieces of tomato flying across the table. “Maybe we could pick up some tips before we go on another case!” he suggested, before his hand steadied and his face smoothed over into careful nonchalance. “Uh, that is…if you ever wanted to, y‘know, do it again.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his index finger brushing thoughtfully over his bottom lip as he stared out of the lunchroom window, Dean’s knee warm against his. “Yeah, I kinda do.” 

                                                                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler?” Dean asked, his voice high with excitement. Noticing Sam’s amusement at his tone, Dean cleared his throat and tried again. “We saw your ghost hunting instructional video on YouTube. We’re big fans.”

The short, bespectacled man looked over his shoulder, starting in surprise at the sight of Dean’s enthusiastic show of teeth. He dropped a rather expensive looking camcorder on the asphalt, scattering the sidewalk in a sudden sunburst of silvery metallic pieces. The even shorter, darker haired man beside him clumsily ducked for cover, falling behind a pile of equipment when he tripped over his own feet. This earned a snort of laughter from the petite Asian woman nearby, and a slow swing of the camera lens that blocked another stockier man’s face from view.

“Why, hello!” the spiky haired man said, his voice overly deep as he straightened his shoulders, kicking the pile of metal at his feet under the van before sidling behind a stack of boxed video equipment. “So you’ve seen our recent work?”

Sam arched an eyebrow at their response as Dean pushed forward, sticking out his hand with another smile. Ed flinched, shifting further behind the barrier of equipment as if to keep the bulk of the bags and boxes between them.

“I’m Dean Smith, and this is my…partner, Sam Wesson.” When no one took his hand, Dean’s smile faltered just a little. He pulled it back to rub his palm against his beige blazer before he fiddled with the collar of his polo shirt, as if that was what he had intended to do all along.

Sam waved from his position behind Dean, taking note of Harry’s eye roll when the dark haired man struggled to get to his feet. Harry gave a stiff laugh as he rubbed his hands down his shirtfront, dusting off the fabric. “Were Dean Magnum and Sam Beretta already taken?”

Dean just stared at him in confusion, and Sam stepped forward, his taller frame casting Harry in shadow. “We used some of your ideas to kill a…well, a ghost in our office building a couple of weeks ago. We were kind of hoping to see how the experts did it, if we could.”

The Asian woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and the camera lens next to her swung its way from Ed and Harry towards Dean and Sam.

Then the camera lens spoke up, reminding them that there was a person somewhere behind it.

“This is a joke, right?”

“Shut up, Spruce.”

“C’mon, Maggie. It’s gotta be a joke; it’s the Wi-….”

“Please?” Dean begged. “We’re thinking of maybe getting into the business, but we don’t know much about it.”

Their jaws dropped, the ripple effect almost comical as it spread throughout the Ghostfacers team.

“What?” Ed asked in surprise.

“No…wait…what?!” Harry repeated a second later.

Maggie just closed her mouth and stared at the two men assessingly, Spruce’s camera giving them an almost accusing gaze from his spot beside her.

“This isn’t funny,” Harry sputtered, his indignant air making his pallid cheeks flush pink. “Is this because we called you dou-…”

“Har-ry!” Ed cut in a smooth sing-song, resting his hand around Harry’s arm and squeezing. The smaller man winced at the pinch, twisting out of Ed’s grip and rubbing at the sore muscle. “Let’s not insult these gentlemen any further by making them wait. ‘Facers, team meeting!” He turned to give Dean and Sam an ingratiating smile. “We’ll be right with you.”

He herded Harry further onto the lawn, gesturing for Spruce and Maggie to follow.

“Ed!” Harry hissed, showing all of his teeth.

“Quiet, Harry,” Ed said with a careless wave of his hand. “‘Facers, what we have here is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity to get our asses kicked?” Spruce asked conversationally. “’Cause if we’re voting, I’m a negative.”

“I think all four of us might be able to take one of them down for a couple of minutes,” Maggie said with a shrug. “Or maybe you three could try while I run for help.”

“And let yet another kind of Winchester take down a proud Native American Jew?” Spruce asked, the camera lens swinging back over Ed’s shoulder to zoom in on Sam’s overly large bicep curving from beneath the sleeve of his tight Abercrombie & Fitch tee. “No way. I’ll run for help. You’ve got those tiny girl hands that could get past their defenses; I don’t think they’d hit you back.”

“The Winchesters are up to something,” Ed pointed out, ignoring both Maggie and Spruce. “Maybe they’re trying to steal our growing internet fan-base. Why not keep an eye on them?”

“Because they’re really…big,” Harry suggested. “And muscle-y. And… _big_.”

Maggie cast an eye over her shoulder at the two men who were shifting uncomfortably on their feet as they leaned against their car.

“They’re driving a Prius. It’s got to mean something if they went to all this trouble.”

“Exactly!” Ed shouted. “Maybe this case is bigger than we thought….” His eyes lit up with excitement behind his dark frames. “This could be our Mt. Doom!”

Harry nodded more enthusiastically at the metaphor. “And if we show up the Winchesters, we’ll be razor! Our blog will get more hits than that Clone Wars RPG.”

“So, ‘Facers…is it agreed?”

The team looked at Ed in confusion.

“Do we allow the Winchesters into our inner circle to keep them under surveillance?”

The Ghostfacers grunted in agreement.

“Sure, Frodo and Samwise, why not.”

Harry elbowed Maggie as he hissed under his breath. “Babe, you know I like to be called Aragon when we’re….”

“Harry!”

“Sorry, Ed. I forget she’s your sister sometimes; she’s just so….”

“My _adopted_ sister,” Ed reminded him with a disgruntled huff, cutting him off before he could continue. “Let’s go inform our guests that they’ll be lucky enough to watch professionals in action. We need to try to keep them separated, so they can’t conspire against us.”

“We’re keeping them away from the computers this time, right?” Maggie asked. “I really don’t want to replace all of our hard drives again.”

Ed and Harry looked at each other, eyebrows rising in panic. “Oh, frak!” they shouted in unison, darting towards the piles of equipment laying spread out on the sidewalk in front of their unwelcome guests. 

                                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Ghostfacers were strangely protective of their equipment. Sam and Dean came to this realization shortly after they were invited to observe the “professionals”, and had politely offered to help carry in the various camera and computer baggage that had accumulated in a large pile outside of the van.

Instead, they watched in confused amusement as the Ghostfacers struggled to carry items that were twice their weight up the rickety stairs into the house, refusing any and all offers of assistance from the two men.

It didn’t get much better once safely inside the premises. Ed seemed to find them fascinating, like a scientist observing a new species of microbe multiplying under a microscope. He watched them less than covertly from behind the other team members, while Harry glowered openly from over Maggie’s shoulder whenever they caught his eye.

Spruce’s camera followed them as if they had their own internal spotlight, an ever-vigilant watchdog that trailed their every step – if that step happened to be near where the action was happening. Even Maggie offered no respite, shooing them away whenever they neared the large bank of computer and video equipment she had set-up in the “eagle’s nest”. Sam brushed his hand appreciatively over one of the large monitors, and she came rushing over, brandishing a boom stand in a threatening manner, though her expression remained tightly pleasant and her clipped words were kindly phrased.

Sam and Dean weren’t quite sure what to make of the Ghostfacers now that they had met them. They had appeared much nicer on YouTube. 

                                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam!” Dean hissed, pressing up against his side. “Uh…where are you going?”

“To the bathroom,” Sam replied. “Why? Do we need to call a team meeting first?” He gave his head an irritated shake, not bothering to look over where the Ghostfacers had set up their command center.

Dean shuffled uncomfortably, frowning at Sam’s tone. “No…it’s just….” His gaze caught something around Sam’s shoulder, his eyes skittering off to dance along the ceiling as if he were tracing the cracks in the plaster.

Sam turned his head slightly as if stretching his neck, only to see Ed’s spectacles reflecting the light of the lamps as he stared in their direction, his expression calculating.

“He keeps…staring at me,” Dean mumbled, shifting on his feet so the bulk of Sam’s body hid him from sight. “And I heard him call me….” Dean frowned, his lips forming a plump moue that drew Sam’s eyes like a magnet. “...chisel chest,” he ground out, cheeks pink.

Sam threw an arm over Dean’s shoulder. “Awwww,” he said, his voice saccharine sweet. “I’ll protect you from the big bad ghost hunter.”

Dean leaned into the warmth of Sam’s body, before he realized what he was doing and stiffened in panic. “Don’t be such a bitch,” he growled under his breath, shrugging off Sam’s arm. He paused for a second, squinting over at Sam before he added in an off-hand manner, “ _You_ stared.”

Sam blinked, recalling their first meeting in the elevator, how dumbfounded he’d felt when he saw the man of his dreams, in the flesh and twice as enticing.

Even if Dean had been kind of a jerk.

“It was that pretty mouth,” Sam teased tightly. “Just like a prison movie.”

Dean flushed again and licked his lips nervously, before he pressed his mouth into a thin line until his lips nearly disappeared, his expression lemon sour. The conversation petered out into silent discomfort, neither man sure of where to go from there.

A voice broke the tension between them, making Dean jump with a startled huff of breath towards Sam, his chest bumping against the other man’s.

“Well,” Ed said, looking from one to the other. “What are you two talking about?”

“Just wondering where the bathroom is,” Sam said, as Dean shifted to stand at his side.

“Down the hall to the right.” Ed gave Dean a full smile, holding out an arm as he gestured towards the other side of the room away from the rest of the team. “Dean, you come with me and we’ll talk strategy.”

Before either of them had time to think, Dean twitched, his hand snapping out to grab Sam’s.

“He’s my boyfriend!” Dean shouted.

Ed’s mouth fell open and he blinked owlishly behind his lenses, and the other Ghostfacers turned at Dean’s yell to stare in surprise. Sam’s shoulders shook suspiciously, his breath coming in strangled huffs through his nose, but Dean stood tall, his grip tight on Sam’s hand.

“Down the hall to the right, did you say?” Dean asked. “We’ll be right back.”

At that, Dean dragged Sam down the hall, a loud guffaw spilling down the corridor after them before the bathroom door slammed closed.

“Did I hear that right?” Maggie asked, intrigued, walking over to stare after the two men.

Ed wrinkled his nose. “That’s just….”

“ _Hot_ ,” Maggie said with a sigh.

Ed seemed taken aback by his sister’s declaration, staring at her as if she’d grown another head.

Harry sidled over, whispering, “She’s totally into that Nathan and Peter Petrelli thing.”

“They’re trying to throw us off,” Ed sputtered, shaking his head. “It’s a clever trick. They’re in the bathroom right now plotting against us.”

“Or giving each other blowjobs,” Spruce suggested from behind his camera, shrugging when Ed gave him a disgusted glare. “Just an idea.” 

                                                                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam choked, struggling for breath as he leaned over with his hands on his knees, face red and eyes streaming with tears.

“Y-your…” he finally gasped out.

He let out another strangled bark of laughter, missing the perturbed set of Dean’s jaw.

“I panicked, okay? Shut up!”

Sam took another unsteady breath as he forced himself upright, leaning back against the bathroom door with a thunk. “Not your best move. You know what they think we’re doing in here.”

Dean’s eyes widened in understanding, his green gaze caught in Sam’s similar hazel one. Sam suddenly grinned, his head tilting forward, and Dean felt the urge to lean in, his body straining forward, before Sam’s head fell back, rhythmically tapping against the door. It sounded almost obscene to Dean’s ears, echoing the quickening of his heartbeat.

 _*bump-bumpbump-bump-bumpbump*_

Sam’s eyes darkened, pinning Dean in place as repeated the motions, his voice spilling out huskily to fill the silence between them.

“This is where I’ve got you pinned to the door, my body covering yours. I’m nibbling on your neck, and your head slams back whenever I hit that spot right under your chin that drives you crazy, and I’m rutting against you so hard, my knees keeps banging the wood.”

Sam lifted his foot, cocking his leg, and slammed his boot against the lower panel, making it creak loudly in protest and shudder in its frame.

“I’ve just lifted you up, and you’ve wrapped your legs around my waist as I slammed you back against the door. You’re making those needy little gasping noises I like so much, but I’m swallowing them down, trying to keep you quiet.”

Sam kicked the door again, flakes of paint dusting his shoulders.

“I’ve got my hand around wrapped around us both, and it hurts so good, feeling the pressure of your dick rubbing against mine, that I can’t help myself and I start to come….”

Dean swelled forward, flowing into Sam’s space, his breaths harsh in the confined space. He placed his hands on either side of Sam’s head, pushing in until he could feel the heat of Sam’s breath puffing against his nose and mouth, the added weight making the door groan in complaint.

“And feeling your cock sliding against mine, feeling your come hot and wet around us, that makes me lose it, my screams spilling down your throat.”

Sam’s breaths came faster, his body bowing towards Dean’s, even as his shoulders remained pressed against the door.

With a satisfied smirk, Dean clenched one hand into a fist and rapped it against the wall, making the door rattle harder, the frame emitting an ominous creaking snap.

“And _that_ is because I’m a kinky bitch,” Dean said, voice gravel rough.

They stood frozen, staring at each other, before they became cognizant of their positioning. Dean pushed himself away roughly, settling against the opposite wall and tucking his hands in his pockets, studiously avoiding looking in Sam’s direction.

Sam nodded silently, eyes following Dean, taking a moment to swallow to ease the words out. “I think Ed will leave you alone now.”

He reached behind him and blindly felt for the doorknob, twisting the cold metal in his grip, just to get out and away, needing space to think like he couldn’t when Dean Smith was around. Dean’s hunched figure facing the empty tub seemed to hint he needed some time alone, as well, and Sam put more effort into opening the door, frowning when the expected result didn’t happen.

“Uh…Dean?” Sam said, his voice hesitant. “I think we broke the door.” 

                                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If things had been awkward before, now Dean felt _four_ sets of eyes – well, three sets and the ubiquitous camera lens belonging to Spruce – following him and Sam wherever they went. If he and Sam deigned to go in different directions, Dean wondered if the Ghostfacers would somehow find a way to watch them both with one eye on each man.

He wouldn’t put it past them.

At least one good thing had come out of the bathroom incident; Ed had stopped trying to keep Sam and Dean separated, instead following their progress through the house with an almost horrified anticipation, as if they might suddenly snap, strip off all their clothes, and start making out in front of him. Harry seemed to have the same reaction, touched with a hint of jealousy, and when Dean glanced over at Maggie, he figured it had something to do with the vaguely lecherous glee that seemed to cloud the air around her, her eyes trained on Sam and Dean as they awaited their orders.

Spruce was harder to read, hidden as he was behind the constant presence of his camera, but he seemed to have an almost technical interest in the two men, making sure they were always standing in good light or that all flat surfaces surrounding them remained uncluttered. When a curious eyebrow and a questionable _uh…dude?_ was directed at him, he mumbled something about expanding his video portfolio and making some extra cash, and if they could move a little closer to each other, he could maybe edit something palatable for the soft-core crowd.

Dean didn’t try to think about that too hard, just grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged him away, despite Spruce’s shouted suggestion that maybe next time he grab Sam by the neck and press him into a wall or something, because viewers seemed to prefer a little friendly rough-trade.

Even with the constant audience, the tension between the two men didn’t dissipate, growing steadily sharper with the oppressive sensation of being surrounded in hostile territory – the two hot new inmates in the yard.

“ _Dude_ ,” Sam scoffed, concealing Dean within his shadow, out of the camera’s line of sight. “This isn’t HBO. ‘Sides, I think we could take them in a fight.”

Dean frowned, flicking out his fingers and studying his nails closely. “But I just got a manicure.”

Sam snorted before refocusing on what Dean had said previously. “You think I’m hot?” Dean ignored him, so Sam leaned in and whispered teasingly, “If I need to, I can shank Ed for you. Claim you as my bitch.”

Sam winced when Dean punched him in the arm, hissing, “Only comparatively, asshole. You’re making Spruce look really good right now.”

“It’s the camera, isn’t it?” Sam laughed, glancing over his shoulder to where Spruce was studying video clips on the computer. He ignored the fact that they seemed to be mostly of Dean and him caught staring at each other when the other one wasn’t looking. “I’ll remember that for the future. Maybe Spruce will let me borrow his ge-….”

“You finish that sentence, and I’ll forget about my $100 manicure.” 

                                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gather, ‘Facers!” Ed announced, waving his team closer with an enthusiastic sweep of his hands. “…and guests,” he added after a moment’s hesitation, giving Sam and Dean a squint from behind his glasses.

Ed slapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly as he paced in front of the team. “We’ve gone through every room to take baseline readings, and selected the potential hotspots of paranormal activity. Now it’s time to break into teams and set up camp in different parts of the house.”

“Maggie…you’re in charge of the eagle’s nest. Harry will be roaming the rest of the first floor.”

The two nodded curtly in agreement.

“Spruce, you’re with Sam in the basement, and I’ll be with Dean up-…”

“I’m with Dean,” Sam stated calmly.

“But neither of you are trai-….”

“I’m with Dean,” Sam reiterated, crossing his arms over his chest, which only served to make him look even larger in the confined space of the room.

Ed turned back to the others, quickly following with, “And Spruce and I will take the basement. Every team needs a cameraman – person - and an EMF operator. Report back to the eagle’s nest at ten-minute intervals.” He paused, pressing his fingertips together in front of his chest. “Now let’s bow our heads and say a little prayer to Corbett, our man on the other side.”

The other ‘Facers bowed their heads, and only a few seconds later Ed clapped his hands together. “Gather your gear and head out to your posts!”

They hustled over to where the equipment lay piled on the floor. Dean snatched the camera out from under Sam’s hand, bringing it up to focus on Sam’s protruding lower lip through the eyepiece.

“You’ve got to take the lens cap off first, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Dean shrugged, lowered the camera, and snapped off the black cap. “I just thought your face had already broken it.”

Sam leaned forward, eyes half-lidded, and Dean watched, enraptured, as he neared. With a suddenness that surprised Dean, Sam grabbed his wrist and twisted, easing the camera out of his grasp with his other hand

He focused the camera on Dean, smirking at his annoyed expression. “We need to have the pretty face as the on-screen personality. I’m in charge of the heavy equipment.”

“Yeah, because that camcorder weighs what? Three pounds? Ouch,” Dean deadpanned, “I think I pulled a muscle.”

Dean leaned down to sort through the rest of the equipment. “Hey, Ed,” he called out over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in confusion as he dug through the small pile of gear. “Where are the guns and the salt rounds? Don’t we need those to fight off any ghosts?”

Ed and Harry glanced at each other and flushed, turning to sort through various pieces of video equipment, looking busy.

“Uh…Ed? Harry?”

“Apparently,” Harry began as he fiddled with a series of wires, “you need a license to carry firearms across state lines.”

“And you need to pass a firearms safety course to get that license,” Maggie added. “ _And_ , until Ed stops screaming like a little girl every time he pulls the trigger, we won’t get one.”

“I don’t believe in guns,” Spruce added from behind his camera. “Make video, not war.” He held up a fist near his ear in solidarity, before unclenching his hand to refocus the wide-angle lens on the group.

Dean just gave them all a look that had Sam cracking up behind his camera, before he restated in disbelief, “We’re in a haunted house without any kind of protection?”

Sam leaned over and murmured something in Dean’s ear that made a hint of red touch the young executive’s cheeks, before Dean frowned in response and “accidentally” swung the mike stand into Sam’s crotch.

“Oops, sorry.” Dean threw Sam a blinding smile. “Y’know how I am with heavy equipment.”

Sam wheezed something unintelligible in reply as Dean turned to face the others.

“Are there lead pipes or something, at least?” At the shake of Harry’s head, Dean continued, “A whiffle ball bat? A spork? A freakin’ toothpick?”

Ed proudly rifled through his bag and pulled out a canister of salt with a flourish. “We have all a true Ghostfacer needs right here. Each bag is outfitted with all of the basics.”

“There are extra batteries in case we need them for the equipment?” Sam asked, already digging through the camera case.

“Of course!” Ed sputtered in offense. “Maggie,” he called over his shoulder. “We need batteries.”

With a frustrated sigh, Dean grabbed the spare battery pack out of Maggie’s hand and started walking towards the stairs.

“Hey!” Sam called out after him. “Aren’t you going to grab a bag?”

“Sorry, Samson,” Dean said, his shoulders hunching in feigned exhaustion. “But I think I sprained my wrist lifting these batteries. Looks like it’s all up to you, big guy.”

He then jauntily bounded up the stairs, leaving Sam with the bags piled around his feet.

“Jerk!” Sam called out with a laugh.

Dean’s reply was short and sharp, muffled by the walls, but Sam just grinned and picked up the equipment, trudging up the stairs after him as he shouted, “I heard that!” 

                                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is _boring_ ,” Dean announced for the fifth time that evening, glancing over his shoulder at Sam and frowning at the all-too-familiar sight of the camera aimed in his direction.

“What did you expect? To be attacked by a horde of vampires on our first watch?”

Sam adjusted the light filter, tweaking the contrast until Dean’s face glowed ghost-white on the screen, his gaze a luminous green in the half-light of the second floor.

“Vampires?” Dean asked with sudden interest, perking up immediately. “You really think there are vampires out there, too?” His eyes flashed like silver coins when he turned full-face towards the camera, and Sam barely repressed a shudder at the image before quickly shifting the contrast back to normal, where the color of Dean’s eyes faded to dark smudges beneath his brows.

Sam shrugged, the small movement making the image of Dean on the camcorder screen shift up and down, like he was trying to duck and weave out of sight.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried it before, but Sam’s legs were longer and he’d managed to keep up with him.

“There’s more in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than is dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“You read _Hamlet_?” Dean asked. “I haven’t read any Shakespeare since college, and that was because it was a requirement for British Lit.”

“Saw the movie,” Sam admitted with a smirk, tightening the focus until Dean’s face filled the small screen, the close-up once more sharpening the green of his gaze until it almost hurt to look at directly. “Do you think this place is really haunted?”

The change in topic came as a surprise, Sam could tell, because Dean’s brows arched upward and his full lips fell open on a exhale of breath, before he focused somewhere off to the left as if searching his memory for something important.

“We haven’t measured any significant cold spots, the slight spikes in the EMF readings can be explained away by old electrical wiring – despite what Ed seems to think – and nothing’s tried to kill us, yet.”

Dean blinked, shaking his head as he huffed a dry laugh. “I must be a quick study. I thought you were the freak with all the info.”

“I just have dreams,” Sam said, his voice a touch dark. He hunched in on himself, as if his head or the thoughts it contained had suddenly become far too heavy for his neck, before straightening and tossing Dean a grin. “They got us here, didn’t they?”

“Sure did, Jumbo,” Dean agreed with a conciliatory smile, reaching over to pat Sam on the arm and lingering seconds too long. “I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“You love it,” Sam teased, bringing the camcorder up. “You’re the face of a new generation of ghost hunters. Smile pretty for the camera!”

“Fuck you,” Dean grumped and swatted at Sam, who held the device out of Dean’s reach as he avoided the hit with a laugh. He took the brunt of Dean’s weight against his hip, their bodies molding together as they both fought for the small video recorder.

“You wish.”

The words hung thickening in the air between them as they stilled, the silence broken by the sound of the camcorder dropping to the floor. 

                                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maggie flicked through the various feeds on the computer screens, hiding a yawn behind her hand as she finally pressed mute on the endless monologuing going on from the basement crew.

Trust Ed to embrace the opportunity to never shut up.

She flicked the monitor to watch Harry in the kitchen, and smiled when she saw him blow a kiss at the camera hidden in the corner of the room.

He was her geek and no one else’s.

Finally, she focused on their newest apprentices, wondering what the Winchesters might be up to now that no one was watching them.

She twisted her neck to the left to correct the angle of the feed from the camcorder, before tapping a few keys to shift the view to the camera mounted on the wall.

Huh.

A few more taps on the keyboard, and she had a close-up view of the eighth and ninth wonders of the natural world. A grin spilled over her face, and she leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand, almost wishing she had some popcorn.

REC was only a finger click away. 

                                                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The goodbye was a little awkward, the Ghostfacers too disheartened by the lack of a solid haunting to pay Dean Smith or Sam Wesson any mind.

Except for Maggie, who winked at them and held a finger over her mouth in a quiet gesture.

That didn’t make things any more normal between them, and the two men continued to act as if the other weren’t there.

Once Dean parked in front of Sam’s apartment, the car idling with a low buzzing purr, Sam sat awkwardly in the passenger seat with his fingers clenching the handle of the half-open door.

“Uh, I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday?” Sam asked, not really knowing what else to say.

“Sure,” Dean replied, his gaze steadily focused out the windshield.

Sam just got quietly out of the car, standing in the shade of the large palm arching over the walk up to his front door as Dean Smith drove off out-of-sight. 

                                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Adler’s appearance in his office had been a surprise from the get go, but to hear that he wasn’t even Dean Smith - and then to actually _know_ he wasn’t Dean Smith - was still taking some getting used to.

And all of this was to get him to fight a war that was never really his.

“Is this because you had sex with your brother?”

At Dean’s horrified look, Zachariah shrugged, his mouth turning downwards dismissively. “When you think about it, Eve was practically Adam’s sister – made from Adam’s own rib.” He paused, his lips pursed in thought. “Almost a clone, if you want to be scientific.” A wide smile broke over his face, as if he knew something Dean didn’t, and he clapped his hands together. “Management’s little joke on you primates.”

Dean’s mouth flapped open and shut, as if he didn’t quite know how to reply to that, before he ground out, “It’s _your_ fault it happened. If we weren’t here, we wouldn’t have….” Dean squeezed his eyes shut tightly, taking a haggard breath, before they snapped open again and he shouted, “And we didn’t have sex!”

“I say tomato, you say tomahto,” Zachariah replied, already staring out of the office window. “Are you going to let the world come to an end because of it?” He turned, leaning back against the window, the sun spilling through the glass behind him creating a burning halo of light around his head and shoulders, and making Dean wince at its brilliance.

“Just do the job we chose you for, and you can do whatever you want – within reason, of course. Handbasket…handjob….” Zachariah held out his hands as if weighing the options, looking from one to the other as if he could see Dean and Sam’s future held in his palms. “We didn’t make the rules; you humans did. Interesting to think what you monkeys were so worried about that you had to make them sins in order to prevent them from happening.”

Zachariah strolled to the door of the office, where Dean Smith was carved so precisely on the nameplate, and tapped at it with his finger. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here…isn’t that what you used to say, Dean? That an office job would be your Hell-on-Earth? You can legitimately make that comparison now.” The look became more piercing as he added, “And so will everyone else, soon enough.”

The angel tossed Dean another shark-tooth smile, and Dean almost couldn’t look him in the eye.

“So, for God’s sake, Dean – quit whining about it. Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than making out with your brother and saving the world.”

Dean remained silent as Zachariah continued, “So, are you with me? You wanna go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up…and do what you really want to do? What you were _born_ to do?”

Dean stared after him as the angel gave him another smile and walked out of the door, leaving Dean alone in the darkening shadows of his office.


End file.
